


Seelenverwandte

by star_buckys



Series: Seelenverwandte [1]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 23:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15130595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_buckys/pseuds/star_buckys
Summary: As a young boy in the lands east of the Rhine, Agron loved the names on his body, one on each arm. His left wrist showed the name of his brother, who had Agron's name in the same spot. He often dreamed of his other soulmate; the name tattooed on his right arm: Nasir.





	Seelenverwandte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liggytheauthoress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liggytheauthoress/gifts).



> for beth: i love you so much darling (even though you're a terrible enabler)
> 
> inspired by [this post](http://liggytheauthoress.tumblr.com/post/120705096811/old-thegodsfavorme-nagron-mini-meme-onefive)
> 
> additional warnings: there is no actual self-harm in this fic; however, agron does contemplate that at one point. the violence included is not explicit, and describes what happens in the show
> 
> german translations are in the end notes

As a young boy in the lands east of the Rhine, Agron loved the names on his body, one on each arm. His left wrist showed the name of his brother, who had Agron's name in the same spot.

Their mother told them the gods blessed them, as many people lived their whole life without ever meeting their soulmate. Even though the name on the back of her hand was not his, she truly loved their father, and Agron never saw her pay attention to it except for the one night she pulled him aside and cautioned, "Do not lose self in search of them. If the gods will it, then it will happen."

Duro hadn't needed the warning as he only had Agron's name upon his body. There were days when Agron believed Duro was lucky; other days he felt as if he betrayed his brother by having another's name written on his skin while Duro did not.

Still, he often dreamed of his other soulmate; the name tattooed on his right arm: Nasir. Who would they be? A friend, or perhaps a lover? They could be anyone to him, it didn't matter. Agron desperately wished to meet them, still praying to the gods that he grew to doubt existed.

* * *

Years passed, and the two brothers found themselves enslaved as gladiators, submitting to the will of a Roman fuck by name of Batiatus.

Agron gritted his teeth, exhaling sharply when the fucking iron touched his skin, knowing the brand symbolized more than just ownership. It was intended to cover up the name of his soulmate, which caused as much injury as the brand itself. They wanted their slaves to forget.

(At least they didn't bother with the name on his left wrist; his brother was next to him so there was no fucking point.)

There was little time to think about anything other than training, and thoughts of life beyond the ludus, beyond the arena, were few and far between, including those of his soulmate.

(The harsh environment served the same purpose as the brand, removing most hope of freedom from the men.)

* * *

After the death of his wife and soulmate, Spartacus spoke of killing the Romans and escaping. Soon, the man came up with a plan, and they set it into motion. Agron delighted in the violence, until the world stopped as his worst fear materialized.

Helplessly, Agron watched the sword pierce Duro's side. With an angry cry, he slashed the Roman's throat. He caught his brother and sank to the ground, then pulled the sword out to cover the wound with his hands. Blood spilled onto the sand as Duro smiled. "This time I save you, brother."

His brother's life faded as he took one final breath then died in Agron's arms. He leaned down to kiss Duro's forehead before screaming in anguish, feeling part of his soul die with him. Grief quickly gave way to rage as Agron picked up a sword and ran inside the villa to join the others in battle.

The rest of the battle was a blur, his rage driving him forward, killing any Roman in sight, blaming every single one of them for taking his brother away from him.

(It wasn't enough; no amount of Roman lives would ever be enough in exchange for Duro's life.)

Covered in blood, Agron left the ludus, dedicating himself to Spartacus' cause.

* * *

He lost a piece of himself with Duro's death, when the black letters on his left wrist faded to gray. He felt only hatred toward the mark he once loved. Some nights when sleep failed to come, he imagined cutting off the offending skin, getting rid of the constant reminder. In the light of day, those thoughts disgusted him. In the coming battles, he turned his self-loathing outward and killed any Roman in his path as gruesomely as possible. It was all he was good for now.

They moved from villa to villa, following the path left by Naevia. Agron made no effort to hide his opinion about this futile search, repeatedly telling Spartacus that their efforts would be better served elsewhere, namely killing more Roman assholes and advancing on Rome.

After another fruitless endeavor, Agron pulled Spartacus aside to voice concern. "He is given crumbs, yet you present his fucking meal."

"His heart aches for nourishment. I would have it well fed."

Sometimes the man was infuriatingly principled. "Even if Naevia lives, she will not be the woman he holds to memory. If we are to stand against Glaber and the Romans, we must liberate fighting men. Not waste effort on dwindling hope and worthless house slaves."

"Every man has his worth. A lesson the Romans will soon learn." And Spartacus left no room for argument, so Agron left the room, cursing Spartacus' morals.

Thoughts on the matter changed unexpectedly at one particular villa, and Agron quickly grew to understand why Crixus would risk all to find Naevia in his arms once more.

* * *

Two men held the man who attacked Spartacus back as Crixus paced in front of Spartacus and Agron, who were sitting on a table.

"You wish to train this fuck?"

"The boy deserves opportunity."

"He was given such a thing and made attempt on your life in response."

And despite his gut reaction, Agron could not argue with him. "Gods save me, I find myself in agreement with a Gaul."

Spartacus seemed unimpressed with the both of them. "He has known nothing but slavery. The strength of such a tether not easily severed."

"Perhaps never to be so."

"And if we take his life? What message will that send to those who wish to join our cause?"

Still focused on the man, Agron responded, "That they had best be agreeable."

Spartacus raised an eyebrow, his disappointment evident on his face. "We're Romans then? Commanding through fear and threat of death?"

Agron wanted to protest, but was unable to do so as Spartacus did have a point. Yet if he did not heed caution he may lose life by trusting too much.

"If he makes attempt again, I will make sure he joins his fucking Dominus."

Crixus struck the man upon the cheek, causing his mouth to bled, but he showed no pain and continued to glare hatefully at the other men. Agron admired his defiance for a moment then turned his attention to the matter at hand.

"And how do you suppose we train this wild little dog?"

"As Batiatus had Doctore train me."

Agron smirked. "And that turned out so well."

* * *

Agron walked around the newest recruits' training (or rather, their feeble attempts at swinging swords and learning positions), keeping an eye on all of them; however, his gaze kept wandering over to where Spartacus trained the man who attacked him, which made no sense. Yet there was something about the man that captured his attention. For briefest moment he imagined the two of them as friends. As something more. The thought was unexpected but surprisingly welcome; such a contrast to what had become normal.

He quickly put those thoughts from mind. There was no use in thinking of something that had no chance of happening.

He assumed his position next to Donar, still watching the man.

Donar followed his gaze. "Should have put the boy down. A dog bites once, he will bare fucking teeth again."

Agron found himself in agreement with those words, having seen no evidence to contradict it. "Pity."

* * *

Despite his attempt to kill Spartacus, Agron was still drawn to the man, to his defiance, his determination. Not for the first time since meeting him, Agron’s eyes fell to his own arm, thumb tracing the letters partially obscured by Batiatus’ brand, a small part of him hoping that he had finally met him. Nasir.

Against his better judgement, Agron headed over to the man and crouched next to him to offer him a drink. "You press fortune, glaring so at the slayer of Theokoles."

"His victory but proving even giants fall."

"What name do you go by, little man, so I may properly mourn your passing?" The moments that followed seemed to last a lifetime as he waited, hoping to hear the name he held to heart.

The man replied, "I am called Tiberius."

A sword in his back would've been less painful. He forced himself to speak, pretending the news had not affected him at all. "Tiberius? You are far too dark to have such a fair Roman name."

"I am more Roman than Syrian."

Agron stared straight ahead, frowning as Ashur, the only other Syrian he knew, came to mind. "There was a Syrian at our ludus. A treacherous fuck, if ever there breathed." Despite meeting him mere days ago, Agron believed Tiberius shared nothing more than homeland with the man responsible for many of the atrocities committed in the ludus. He exhaled quickly to pull himself from dark thoughts before turning back to Tiberius. "You had family there?"

"I only recall a brother."

And those darker thoughts returned, hitting Agron as hard as a punch to his stomach. He looked down, finding his hand gripping his cup near point of breaking, knuckles white from the pressure. "I too had a brother."

He felt Tiberius' eyes upon him and shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the Syrian's attention. "No longer?"

Agron still couldn't bare to look at him and spoke softly to the ground, "He was struck down by the Romans."

"When you turned swords against them?"

The urge to yell overcame him for but a moment at Tiberius' words. Instead, he gritted his teeth and swallowed hard, before turning to gaze into Tiberius' (gorgeous) brown eyes that betrayed no emotions, only stared back, waiting expectantly for an answer. Agron smiled with no warmth, barely containing his rage. "As you shall one day." The anger seeped into his voice as his face grew serious. "If you hold any fucking sense."

Without waiting for a reply, he stood and walked away from Tiberius.

* * *

He stood by, listening intently as Tiberius spoke to the Roman shits, playing his part with ease of someone who spent their life enslaved.

The conversation halted, and Agron locked eyes with Spartacus. Moments later, the Syrian extended invitation to the Romans, betraying those who had given him freedom.

All those capable with sword attacked. Out of the corner of his eye, Agron saw Tiberius get knocked to the ground. He turned his full attention to the Romans in front of him, letting out a yell. The blood poured onto the ground and flew through the air, spattering Agron with the proof of his kills.

Pulling his sword out of a now-dead Roman (as all should be), he saw another behind Spartacus, aiming to kill. Agron called out his name, moving forward, stopping when a sword pierced the Roman's back, the body slumping and falling to the ground with a satisfying thud, joining the rest of the dead.

Tiberius had picked up sword to turn against the Romans, and for a moment Agron felt unexpected pride. Before he could be properly thanked, Crixus grabbed Tiberius by the throat, pushing him against the pillar.

"Why did you stop them from leaving?"

"He killed the man–"

"When he saw they would not win."

"His eyes fell to my neck. He saw the absence of my collar. If I had not allowed him in, he would have returned with more men!"

"You did well, Tiberius."

“Nasir.” Agron froze, not daring to even breathe as the Syrian locked eyes with his own. “My brother called me Nasir.”

All Agron could manage was a nod in reply, forgetting to breathe, refusing to look away from the man - his soulmate. Knowing this answered all his questions, yet created many more.

Once they parted, Agron lay down on his cot to ponder the day's events.

Maybe his name wasn't on Nasir.

(Maybe it was and Nasir didn't want him.)

Though the thought gutted him, after everything Nasir had been through, he deserved to make his own choices, so Agron vowed to keep arm hidden from view.

* * *

As time passed, he got to know Nasir quite well, and soon realized he was so far gone for the man. Duro would—

While he still felt it, the loss of his brother was no longer sharp but rather a dull ache akin to a healing wound.

Duro would have teased him to no end in their native tongue. Agron almost heard his voice: „Bruder, magst du diesen Mann? Liebst du ihn?" followed by a laugh. It sounded so real, like if he turned around his brother would be beside him. Agron would have punched his shoulder, not too hard but enough for him to stop. „Verdammt amüsant, Arschloch. Halte den Mund."

(Their conversations often went like this; it always had been their way of showing affection.)

Duro would have liked Nasir, Agron was certain.

* * *

When Nasir volunteered to aid Crixus in his doomed quest, Agron's heart stopped.

Instead, he masked his fear with a shake of the head and a half-smile. "Fucking Syrians."

* * *

He spent their days apart pining for Nasir, much to Donar's annoyance. Finally they approached Vesuvius, pausing momentarily when they heard noises ahead. They ran towards it, hands on their swords, prepared to fight if necessary.

He saw Nasir next to Naevia, slumped against a tree. Agron barely stopped long enough to press his hand to Spartacus' shoulder before rushing to kneel before Nasir, cradling his face in one hand, gently lifting to bring their eyes to the same level. Nasir's face was deathly pale, but as they locked eyes, Nasir smiled weakly, which Agron returned before clenching his jaw.

He helped Nasir stand, keeping an arm around his waist to support him as they walked to their new camp at Vesuvius.

* * *

It happened not long after that day.

Once Nasir's wound healed, he resumed training, fighting with that same determination Agron fell in love with. Nasir proved to be a fast learner, rarely exposing his flank and recovering quickly when he was hit. The weather had grown hot so Agron had pulled off most of his armor, including the strips of leather covering his forearm, distracted enough to forget their purpose.

Over an hour passed before Agron managed to knock Nasir off his feet. He held out his hand to help him up.

(His hands were smooth and soft, whereas his own were callused and scarred. Even in this, they complimented each other.)

"Grati—" Nasir's voice trailed off as his gaze fell to the gladiator's arm where he was branded—

Fuck.

Agron jerked his arm back, almost falling forward when Nasir grabbed his wrist. He swallowed hard as he studied Nasir's face for any indication of what he was thinking, but he found none.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought if you knew it would only cause feelings of obligation. I did not wish to take choice from you."

Nasir nodded, contemplating what Agron admitted. "My name and freedom were not the only things the Romans took when placing collar upon neck; it served to hide any trace of a soulmate. Once removed, I'd forgotten such a thing existed." Nasir ran his thumb over his own name, sending shivers down Agron's spine.

"And now?" Agron's voice sounded strained to his own ears but Nasir gave no indication that he noticed.

"I can hardly ignore evidence before me."

Nasir's face was still blank, which was why Agron spoke again, giving the other man a way out, even though Agron thought it might kill him. "But you could, if you wish. Perhaps that would be best; we should forget this ever happened."

"You said you do not wish to take choice from me, and I will not let you change mind now." Nasir moved his hand to Agron's cheek, gently stroking a thumb across his cheekbone. "No matter what name rests on my neck, you are the one who holds my heart."

**Author's Note:**

>  **translations:**  
>  Seelenverwandte - Soulmates  
> „Bruder, magst du diesen Mann? Liebst du ihn?" - "Brother, do you like this man? Do you love him?"  
> „Verdammt amüsant, Arschloch. Halte den Mund." - "Fucking amusing, asshole. Shut up."
> 
> i left the ending ambiguous bc i firmly believe that, after spending his life up until spartacus arrives to the villa as a slave, it's vital for nasir to make his own decisions, and i wanted his first relationship to be one of his own choosing
> 
> though for the record, agron's name is on nasir's neck; i went back and forth on this for a while, but honestly if there are any fictional characters that are soulmates, it would be nasir and agron ~~and perhaps that's why agron likes kissing nasir's neck so much~~
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at [my main blog](http://racetrackshiggins.tumblr.com) or [my spartacus side blog](http://nasiragron.tumblr.com)
> 
> thanks so much for reading!! <3


End file.
